Trying times
by Floranna
Summary: In the early days after the change.


**AN:** My Yuletide 2014 story. It became far more...depressive than I would have thought. My beta was awesome SlowMercury.

There was a loud snap followed by a cacophonous smash and a loud roar of...anger? Pain? Both? Cogsworth just sighed and tried to rub his face, but the glass got into the way, he repressed the urge to cry. Lumiére was laughing at something in the corridor, but his voice quickly gaining a hysterical tinge.

It was the chandelier crashing, Cogsworth bet. Master had probably tried to swing on it again. He felt blinding panic threaten for a moment until he remembered that the chandelier had existed in the time _before_, and wasn't actually a person.

He slowly climbed down from the table. He was still trying to get used to his own short stature and other limits. His - legs?- were too short and it always felt like his bottom was brushing the ground. He couldn't grab things well because he only had a thumb and his hands' other fingers fused together in both of his hands and his breathing was always fogging the damned glass.

Even so, he knew he was one of the lucky ones.

Mrs. Potts didn't have any arms or legs, and she had to move around by hopping. Lumiére had the same type of bottom as Mrs. Potts, but he also had candles at the end of his hands. He had already set one room on fire. Luckily, a few gardeners and maids had been changed into buckets, so they were able to put the fire out before it spread too further. But the incident was not without casualties. Cogsworth didn't believe he would ever get the sound of those screams out of his memory.

Cogsworth skirted around the fallen chandelier in the main hall. He was alarmed to note a bit of blood splattered on the ground and a trail of blood drops going towards West Wing. After a moment he calmed down enough to realize that it wasn't enough blood to be dangerous, but Cogsworth still told the nearby maid to bring some water, sponges, bandages and any ointment and medicine that they still had to West Wing. Then he hobbled there himself.

The door was heavy, and it took awhile for him to open it. When he finally managed to slip in, he took in a quick breath in fear and froze briefly. Prince was hunching in a corner, face in his hands with several cuts on his arms. Cogsworth walked towards him quickly, only tripping once which, when Cogsworth looked back on it later, brought him some perverse joy.

Prince didn't react at all to the considerable din Cogsworth had made. When he finally reached the bigger man ('_boy' _a small voice in his head whispered), he could see that Prince wasn't bleeding anymore and the blood had already started to dry.

Cogsworth climbed on to the table next to Prince and sat there, listening to Prince's sobs. The only thing that broke the silence was a coat rack bringing the items he had requested for the maid to bring. Those were inanimate, luckily. Cogsworth wanted to limit the people who saw the state Master was in. When the coat rack -valet, or maybe a former footman? - had left, Cogsworth slowly turned towards Master and slowly began to pry off his claws from his face. Prince wasn't resisting, but his hands were tense, and since Cogsworth tried to move as carefully and gently as possible, it took some time to reveal the damage. When it was finally exposed, Cogsworth wanted to cry. There were deep gashes from Master's claws, and some of them were still bleeding, but many other gashes were old, ranging from fresh to nearly healed.

Cogsworth reached for the sponge, dipped it into water and squeezed out the excess until the sponge was merely damp and then started to dab it on to the wound. It must have been very painful, but Master didn't even whimper. Even when Cogsworth carefully added ointment, Master still had a look on his face like he was watchingsomething far beyond the opposite wall and that whatever he saw terrified him.

When Cogsworth finally finished cleaning the wounds, he pondered the necessity of the bandages. Only one wound on the forehead looked deep enough to need them, so Cogsworth cautiously tugged Prince's head lower and grabbed a roll. It took some finagling to get it all around Master's head, but in the end he was successful even if the results were quite lopsided. Cogsworth just hoped that it would be enough.

Prince still hadn't moved except when prompted throughout the whole process. The tendril of fear squirming in Cogsworth's stomach during this was growing bigger. Hesitantly, he laid a hand on Master's arm in hopes of getting a reaction.

He did.

Prince stood up quickly, screaming furiously, and threw the table Cogsworth was standing into the air. Cogsworth didn't even have time to realize what was happening before he hit the ground hard. The bucket fell next to him, getting him wet and the ointment jars broke on the floor, making terrible mess. Cogsworth got up quickly, and was relieved to see that nothing had broken, even if he felt a bit...pummeled? Would he even be getting bruises anymore?

Master was still screaming, throwing things on the floor and was now attacking the paintings on the wall. Cogsworth decided to make a strategic retreat, and ran out.

Back in the hall, the maid whom Cogsworth had ordered to bring the equipment was cowering in terror in a corner, where the coat rack who had actually brought them to him was covering her protectively. Suddenly, Cogsworth remembered their names: they were Martinet, the valet, and Emile, the maid. They had been together and had just told him _before_ that they wished to marry each other. He had been thinking about whether to let them go or still continue to employ them, or at least Martinet in case of children, when the Change had struck.

In the end, he just walked past them, towards the kitchen. Mrs. Potts would be there, taking care of all the miscellaneous kids that the palace servants had. He needed to be close to someone, and Mrs. Potts had a very soothing presence.

On the way, he ordered a gaggle of maids and footmen to clean up the mess from the fallen chandelier.


End file.
